


Maquis Infiltrator

by Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler



Series: Doctor Tenor; Soldier Spy [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9524471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler/pseuds/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler
Summary: A spy- someone a little more convincing than a Vulcan career-officer, this time, -is carefully placed in the circuit of the Maquis. Chakotay still gets a superb security officer, Janeway still gets a spy on theVal Jean, but what does the solider-spy get? A one-way ticket to the Delta Quadrant with one hundred and forty five of her closest friends, that's what.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to ThatAdroitGeek for being an awesome beta reader!

“Andorians weren’t very common in the Demilitarized Zone, Lieutenant, so you’ll have to find some way to blend in. It will be easier to earn their trust if they don’t question your purpose.”

“Understood, Captain Janeway.”

 

* * *

 

“Lieutenant zh’Quallath! What is the meaning of this?”

“My apologies, sir. I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”

“Make sure to stop by Sickbay then, but don’t show up late to your post again, understood?”

“Of course, sir.”

 

* * *

 

“Someone could think you’re _trying_ to get reassigned, Tyv,” worried Ensign Chante Poirot as she laid on the couch in their shared quarters, her head in her girlfriend's lap.

Lieutenant Tyvaa zh’Quallath let out a bark of laughter in order to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. “Of course not, Chante. Starfleet’s my whole life, and even though I miss Jupiter Station sometimes, I love it here.”

Chante sighed, reassured. “You’re lucky I’ve known you so long,” she retorted. “Anyone more cynical than I would think that you’re lying. No one is as patriotic as you.”

 _That’s what we’re counting on_ , Tyvaa thought despondently, and began to run her fingers through Chante’s golden hair.

 

* * *

 

 _Deep breaths, Tyv._ She held out a PADD containing her reassignment information to the officer. “Tyvaa zh’Quallath, Lieutenant Junior Grade, here on reassignment.”

The personnel officer, a human male with dark skin and a faint facial scar, raised his eyebrows at her, then accepted her PADD. “You must’ve done something really special to end up out here, kid.”

She smiled in a way that she hoped looked roguish, trying to channel charisma that she knew she didn’t have. “Didn’t we all?”

The officer smirked, so Tyvaa relaxed, marginally. He keyed in something on her PADD, and handed it back to her. “There's been a lot of unrest here since the treaty was signed, so it's not surprising that command wants another security officer out here.”

“I'd like to do whatever I can to help these people,” said Tyvaa.

“I hope so, kid.” If Tyvaa thought that the officer seemed just a little too knowing, his smile a little too sly, then she kept it to herself.

 

* * *

 

After five years of wearing a uniform, wearing thick clothes meant for combat was a little unnerving, at first. Thankfully for Tyvaa and her cover, she had close to thirty other people who felt the same way.

Marva IV was a planet that seemed to be made entirely from rocky fields and cold shorelines, and while the human members of the colony often complained about the cold, Tyvaa found the atmosphere refreshing. Her happier demeanor made her stand out, but it a useful way: she had even made one of the Bajoran ex-colonists break into a smile once.

Everyone had a job to do in their new settlement, and Tyvaa, who was a workaholic no matter the career, was often just as dutiful running systems diagnostics as she had been calibrating targeting scanners. Often, nothing could distract her from a work, as exemplified by what had transpired when the Maquis officially made contact with her.

She heard a human clear their throat behind her, but did not look up from her padd. “Can I help you?”

“That depends. How well do you work with thirty-nine year old weapons systems?”

Suspicious, Tyvaa turned around with one hand on her now-stolen phaser. A brown-skinned human with a curious facial tattoo stood nonchalantly behind her, arms crossed and gently leaning on the wall. His eyes darted down at her hand, and seemed to recognise the phaser as Starfleet issue.

Tyvaa made a show of taking her hand off of her phaser and carefully kept her hands at her sides. “About as well as any competent security officer, I imagine. Why? And who's asking?”

The human hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand. “I'm called Chakotay. I've heard your name is Tyvaa?”

 _Chakotay._ Her target was right in front of her, holding out his hand. Inwardly, Tyvaa allowed herself a small sigh of relief. _Phase one, complete._

“That's right,” she said, and shook his hand firmly. His skin, like all humans, was slightly cool to the touch. Chakotay didn't flinch at the temperature difference, and Tyvaa allowed herself to look vaguely impressed.

“Well, Tyvaa,” began Chakotay, “How much do you know about the Maquis?”

Tyvaa shrugged, and her antennae made a similar motion. “The general amount, I suppose. Deserters from Starfleet, defending the territories the Federation handed over in the treaty.” She gave him a significant look. “You'll notice I'm not wearing a Starfleet uniform anymore.”

For some reason, that made Chakotay smile. “I have noticed. I saw your personnel file once, a while back. You had just been promoted to Lieutenant, right? Why would you throw all that away?”

“I won't affiliate myself with an organisation that betrays their own people.” Her reply was stiff and cold, the same way it was when anyone asked her why she didn’t live on Andoria any more. Acting, she was starting to find, was easier when you had similar emotions to draw on.

Chakotay’s eyebrow twitched, but otherwise his face was impassive. “I'm glad you have a firm moral compass, but I have one more question for you.”

Tyvaa fought the urge to clench her hands into fists or to inch her hand toward her phaser. “Ask away.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Frantically searching for the right answer would only get her caught, so Tyvaa answered instinctively. “I'm willing to take a risk for a cause like this one.”

Chakotay smiled broadly, and for a second Tyvaa was worried about just what that smile meant. But then he took a step toward her, and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I like that answer, Tyvaa. I think you’ll like it with my crew.”

Relieved, Tyvaa let out a bark of a laugh. “Is this how all your recruitment meetings go?”

His smile became slightly more wry, more sarcastic. “Well, usually there are more firefights involved. I’d count this as one of the better meetings, certainly.”

The quip made Tyvaa smile, and for a moment, she almost thought that this assignment would be easy. _No it won’t,_ she reminded herself. _You’ll have to betray them in the end, remember._

 

* * *

 

Tyvaa bopped her head to the beat of the Caitian pop music that was blasting from somewhere aboard the _Val Jean_ , the Maquis raider commanded by Chakotay. As it had turned out, she wasn’t exactly a part of his crew yet, since the Maquis was smart enough not to trust any one test of loyalty. Tyvaa had been confined to Marva IV for the last few weeks, but she’d gotten word from B’Elanna, Chakotay’s engineer, that she wanted help calibrating the targeting scanners after the last raid.

“Is that your music, B’Elanna?” Tyvaa shouted, a teasing grin on her face.

A few meters away, B’Elanna rolled her eyes. “No! It's probably Chell’s; he was around here earlier and just didn’t care to shut it off.”

“I don’t mind,” Tyvaa called out. “It’s not particularly good, but it is pretty damn catchy.”

B’Elanna grinned while shaking her head, and Tyvaa sighed deeply. B’Elanna’s moods often swung around without warning, and while Tyvaa had grown to trust her with the well-being of the ship, she definitely didn’t want  to be stuck working with B’Elanna when she was in a mood.

The communications console chirped at Tyvaa, and she mimicked the noise it made in a mocking tone, while B’Elanna began to laugh. “ _Val Jean_ here, Command. What's up?”

“ _Tyvaa, I need you to come to the Command Centre._ ” Chakotay’s voice held a serious tone, but came in a little scratchy over the speaker. Tyvaa could see from the expression on B’Elanna’s face that she was making a mental note to fix that later.

“Be right there, Chakotay,” Tyvaa answered.

B’Elanna’s face was impassive, and that alone was a tell: for anything less than life-or-death, B’Elanna usually had a quip armed and ready. In response to what B’Elanna hadn't said, Tyvaa saluted jauntily and walked off the freighter. What B’Elanna didn't noticed was that Tyvaa’s heart beat faster than normal, and her palms began to feel clammy. After all, for Tyvaa, it _was_ life or death.

The Command Centre on the Marva IV base was in the centre of the complex, though “centre” and “complex” were figures of speech. The “complex” was a series of caves mostly, with one large cavern carved from a hill used as a hangar bay. The Centre was located in the centre as both a tactical decision and because the coolness of the centre caves was good for the computing power of the communications outlets. Each tunnel leading to the Centre had a guard at the end for security, and changed every day. While on “pending probation”, as Tyvaa had designated her state of bureaucratic limbo, Tyvaa had never done a shift of guarding the Command Centre.

Tyvaa set her shoulders back, and breathed deeply. The old Starfleet habit was still prominent among the deserters, so Tyvaa felt safe indulging in an old coping mechanism.

As she approached the end of the tunnel, the guard- a bulky Human armed with a plasma rifle -seemed to puff out his shoulders. “Authorisation?” he barked.

Smoothly, Tyvaa replied, “Chakotay-alpha.” Chakotay, identifying the officer who summoned her, and alpha, detailing which part of the Command Centre she was headed for.

The guard nodded, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and stepped out of Tyvaa’s way. He muttered “Good luck,” under his breath, but Tyvaa stepped inside the inner cavern before she had time to reply.

The word “cavern” didn’t illustrate the feeling of the Command Centre. It was as if a starship’s Bridge and its engine room had been combined into one enormous hall and hidden underground. It could have had an air of disorganisation, and occasionally it did, but somehow Tyvaa blinked for a moment and instead of the dark walls of the cavern, the walls were the colour jokingly titles “Starfleet beige” and rather than the mix-match of leathers and wool, uniforms in primary colors moved and flowed from origin to destination, work done with precision and passion. Once she blinked again, it was the Maquis once more, and the computers were the ones of the salvaged and damaged type, rather than those with Galaxy-class computing power.

Regardless of whatever Tyvaa seemed to be hallucinating, the buzzing, faint hum of work made the tips of her antennae itch, and Tyvaa set her shoulders once more before scanning the throng for Chakotay. Fortunately for her, she didn’t have to look for long.

“Tyvaa!” called a familiar voice.

Turning, Tyvaa spotted Chakotay standing in the doorway to a cavern offshoot, a decently sized room to hold a conversation in, but not much else. Immediately, she darted across the room to him, weaving in and through the trajectories and paths of various Maquis along the way. No one tripped and fell, much to Tyvaa’s pride, but she wobbled a bit as she came to a stop before Chakotay.

He quirked an eyebrow in response. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Tyvaa scoffed a little. “That? Andoria, of course. There’s hardly anything better for learning to navigate a crowd than ice skating at the equator during tourist season.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Chakotay dryly, then gestured her farther into the cave.

Obediently, Tyvaa followed.

What greeted her was once again a mild surprise, and a deviation from what she imagined a Maquis interrogation would go. The chamber, hardly four feet by five feet, contained only four chairs: three in one line, and the last facing the triumvirate. The trio of chairs were already occupied: one by a dark-haired Bajoran woman, the second by an exceptionally androgynous-looking Human with long straw-coloured hair, and the third by a short Human male, thinning brown hair wisping from his head. Of all the things Tyvaa had thought to expect, a triumvirate council had not actually been a likely competitor.

Tentatively, Tyvaa sat down in the single chair, and she could sense Chakotay standing behind her. The action brought rather conflicting feelings to the surface: Chakotay was Tyvaa’s target, and leading him back to Starfleet was her goal. However, she liked Chakotay, and thought he was a capable leader worthy of trust and respect. With Chakotay standing at her back, Tyvaa was unsure if he was going to shoot her in the back or if he was symbolically defending her case to this council. As much as the _Val Jean_ functioned like a family and the silliness of some of the crew, they were still rebels, sometimes called terrorists, and the majority of them had some kind of ruthless streak.

_Including you, Tyvaa?_

_Shut up, self._ She squared her shoulders, and broke the heavy silence that seemed to permeate the chamber. “Good afternoon.”

The androgynous Human smiled widely, and the tips of Tyvaa’s antennae quivered for a moment while a rush of happy feeling breezed through her mind. Tyvaa was left blinking in surprise for a moment, before she recognised the strange darkness of their eyes: Betazoid, not human.

“I like her,” the Betazoid declared out of the blue.

The Human male beside them arched an eyebrow. “She doesn’t often like people,” was all he said.

“She likes it here, and she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty for a cause,” defended the Betazoid. “We’re shorthanded enough as it is.”

The Bajoran woman shook her head. “She’s ex-Starfleet. No offense to you, Chakotay, but I don’t think we should trust her with such a high position yet.”

Behind Tyvaa, Chakotay seemed to scowl. “I want her on my ship because she’s ex-Starfleet. Call me biased, but because she graduated the Academy she has guaranteed skills that not many of our members can claim. She’s followed all my orders so far, and hasn’t strayed from base when you ordered her grounded.”

The Bajoran woman frowned at him, and Tyvaa suddenly realised how much Chakotay was putting on the line for her. She hadn’t done that much for him at all, just a few odd jobs around the base and some diagnostics on the _Val Jean,_  and yet he was vehemently disagreeing with one of his direct bosses to get her on his ship. The surge of gratitude made one of her antennae twitch, which drew the Betazoid’s eye back on her. The Beatzoid smiled widely, and nodded.

“I place my vote,” she declared. “Tyvaa zh’Quallath placed on the _Val Jean_ under Chakotay.”

The Human man looked from the Betazoid to the Bajoran woman again, then nodded. “I also place my vote in favour of zh’Quallath.” Like most humans did, he fumbled her last name, but Tyvaa had spent so much time around Humans that she didn’t even notice the mistake anymore.

The Bajoran woman sighed, clearly defeated. “I place my vote in opposition, even though it clearly won’t make a difference.”

Chakotay walked around from behind Tyvaa, and held out his hand to her. He grinned slightly, wider than Tyvaa had seen him grin before. “Welcome aboard, Tyvaa.”

 _One step closer to mission accomplished,_ she thought, that one small consciousness that spoke like Captain Janeway and still wore Tyvaa’s old yellow uniform. Tyvaa pushed the thought away  as she took Chakotay’s hand.

“I’m honoured, sir.”

 

* * *

 

ENCRYPTION: TZQ-EPSILON-GAMMA-45

FROM: Lieutenant zh’Quallath, Tyvaa

TO: Starfleet Intelligence

CC: Captain Janeway, Kathryn

Position is fragile, but Chakotay trusts me as much as he can. Stationed aboard his ship, the _Val Jean._  

Current raid target: Cardassian warship commanded by Gul Evek. Coordinates to follow.

Will report back in 5 Standard days.

 

* * *

 

The _Val Jean_ shuddered sickeningly with every impact of weapons fire against its hull. Tyvaa clutched the tactical console tightly to steady herself, and tried to breathe deeply to center herself, but the Cardassian warship made that rather difficult.

After another lurch, Chakotay barked, “Damage report!”

“Shields are at sixty percent, thankfully,” Tyvaa reported.

Beside her, B’Elanna muttered a curse under her breath. “A fuel line has ruptured. Attempting to compensate…” B’Elanna’s console buzzed at her instead. “Damn it! We’re barely maintaining impulse. I can’t get any more out of it.”

The hull seemed to shiver, and Chakotay ordered, “Be creative!”

“How am I supposed to be creative with a thirty-nine year old rebuilt engine?” B’Elanna shot back, but any banter from Chakotay was cut off by the sudden activation of the viewscreen.

Gul Evek, a broad shouldered Cardassian whose face seemed remarkably predisposed toward scowling, demanded: “Maquis ship, this is Gul Evek of the Cardassian Fourth Order. Cut your engines and prepare to surrender, or we will-”

Chakotay cut the transmission with a quick jab at his console, and began to lay in a course. “Initiating evasive pattern omega. Mark.”

Tyvaa tightened the grip she held on her console, bracing for impact, while the tremors that ratcheted through the ship’s systems grew more intense. An alert lit up her console briefly, and her shoulders grew only more tense with further bad news. “Shields at fifty percent,” she reported.

“I’ll need more power if we’re going to make it to the Badlands,” warned Chakotay, gritting his teeth as his hands flew to keep the helm under control.

B’Elanna turned to Tyvaa with a wild light in her eyes. “Take the weapons offline. We’ll transfer all power to the engines.”

Tyvaa let out a bark of laughter, either from the stress or from the adrenaline, she wasn’t sure. “You wanna be within firing range of a Fourth Order warship without weapons online?”

B’Elanna scoffed. “We’re not making any dent in their shields anyway. Chakotay said be creative.”

“Tyvaa, shut down the phaser banks,” ordered Chakotay, and the same wild look was in his eyes, too. “If you can give me an other thirty seconds at full impulse, I’ll get us into the Badlands.”

Tyvaa moved to obey, though she muttered under her breath, “You’re all crazy.” A few quick taps and- “Phasers are offline. It’s been nice knowing you all.”

“No time for that,” Chakotay replied. “Throw the last of the photons at them and then give me the power from the torpedo system.”

In the viewscreen, the last two torpedoes exploded against the Cardassian shields, and Tyvaa started chewing on her lip. Defeatist humor was one thing; actually dying was a whole other can of worms.

“Scanners reading any plasma storms, Tyv?” Chakotay asked, glancing back at Tyvaa.

Consulting her console, she reported, “Only one. Coordinates 1-7-1, mark 4-3. Chakotay, what-”

“That’s where I’m going,” he declared, and Tyvaa was suddenly too busy clutching her console to even try to made a retort about his sanity in response.

“The Cardassians are following us in,” warned Tyvaa.

Chakotay grinned widely, and Tyvaa was starkly reminded of why several crewmembers fondly called their commander a “mad bastard”. “Gul Evek must be feeling daring today,” Chakotay quipped, and Tyvaa could hear B’Elanna quietly chuckle at that.

“They’ve taken a hit on their port blade,” Tyvaa read off of her console, “and they’re sending out a distress signal on all Cardassian frequencies.”

“Can you plot a course through those plasma fields, Tyv?”

She blew a strand of hair away from her face. “If you like long and winding paths, sure. This storm is a really big one.”

Chakotay’s shoulders relaxed with near-palpable relief. “We can use the time to make repairs. We-”

The _Val Jean_ shuddered, and Tyvaa immediately focused on her console. While Starfleet wasn’t always a military organisation, there were always going to be space phenomena to analyse, and Tyvaa had spent a week making sure that the _Val Jean’s_ scanners would’ve made Captain Janeway proud.

“Some kind of coherent tetryon beam, ‘Tay,” she answered his unspoken question. “Unknown source, and…” Tyvaa muttered a curse in Andorii under her breath.

“What is it?” asked Chakotay

“Some kind of displacement wave, and it doesn’t look like your everyday plasma storm,” Tyvaa explained hurriedly, “Impact in thirty seconds.”

Over his shoulder Chakotay asked, “Anything left in those impulse generators, B’Elanna?”

Tyvaa could hear B’Elanna take a shaky breath before she replied, “We’ll find out.”

Glancing down at her console, Tyvaa said, “The wave’s accelerating. Impact in eight seconds. Five.”

She clenched her muscles so hard that she knew her knuckles were turning white, even with her eyes closed. If Tyvaa had grown up learning about Andorian gods, she was sure that she would be praying to them in that moment. She threw a frantic thought in the direction of Seska’s Bajoran Prophets and that Sto-Vo-Kor place that B’Elanna rarely talked about, as if that would help.

The last thought that crosses her mind before unconsciousness is a brief thought about seeing Mom and Hvran again.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
